More Than Charming (19 page)

“Take me, James,” she said, breathless.

He lowered her onto the carpet in front of the fire and untied the belt of her wrapper. He spread the thin material wide, pausing for a moment to stare down at her. Her breath came fast in response to the desire on his handsome face.

He finally joined her, covering her body with his. He kissed her deeply, his tongue mating with hers. Dragging his mouth from hers, he kissed her throat.

“Ah . . .” he moaned, rubbing his arousal against her. “God, how I want you.”

She arched toward him as he moved to nuzzle her breasts. He teased her, circling one hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue.

“Please, James,” she whispered. “Please . . .”

He swore softly and closed his mouth over the sensitive nub. Raw pleasure nearly sent her over the edge. He teethed the nipple as his hand stole down to the curls that shielded her womanhood. He found the tiny nub hidden there and gently stroked her.

“Catherine . . .” He trailed kisses down the front of her. “Catherine . . .”

His mouth took over for his hand, his tongue teasing her as it slowly delved inside. She grabbed at his shoulders, his hair, whimpering softly.

The first tremors of her orgasm began. He lifted her hips and entered her with one deep thrust. Catherine cried out and he held himself still.

“Am I hurting you, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice rough.

She gave a quick shake of her head. “God, no,” she replied, moving her hips restlessly.

He grinned wickedly and renewed his thrusts. He drove into her roughly and she met him stroke for stroke, whispering his name over and over. She cried out as she came, scoring his back with her nails. He joined her, a shout tearing itself from his throat. He collapsed on top of her.

After a few moments, he held himself above her, staring down at her. “You’re mine, Catherine,” he said, raining kisses on her face. “Remember that.”

She looked at him, her passionate haze slowly clearing. “James,” she murmured, “what do you mean?”

He dropped his head to her neck, nuzzling her skin. “I never want to hear another man’s name on your lips, wife,” he said, nibbling on her ear. “I never want to see another man’s hands on your body.”

Catherine heard it in his voice, the worry, the conviction. She sighed then, pleased with his possessiveness. Surely if he wished to keep her for his own, he must be making a small place for her in his heart.

She cupped his face in her hands and held it above her. “Yes, James. None but your name. None but your hands.”

He grinned at her a bit sheepishly. “It wasn’t my intention to take you on the floor.”

She shrugged, giving him a grin of her own. He bent his head to capture her lips when her words stilled him.

“We have guests, James,” she said.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, sitting up beside her. He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come, wife,” he said. “Let’s ready for dinner.”

James smiled as he watched Catherine attempt to lend some semblance of order to her dress, her wrapper twisted hopelessly about her legs. She caught his smile and fixed a look of pique at him.

“Go,” he said. “Before I tear that garment from you and take you again.”

She tilted her head to the side as if considering his blatant offer.

He gave her bottom a light slap. “Lusty wench.” He chuckled.

Barely hiding her smile, Catherine took herself into the dressing room.

*     *     *

Dinner was pleasant, the four of them at last able to put aside the depressing mood of the funeral. James’s charm was once more in full force, as he let go of his stilted manner from the afternoon.

That night, in the big four-poster they shared, James cradled Catherine in his arms. She was lightly snoring in slumber, the soft sound bringing a smile to James’s lips. He stroked her hair, her back. Letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction, he closed his eyes.

His mind unfettered, he found himself recalling his odd behavior at the funeral. Waltham had no right to touch her. No, Catherine was his. And she had no cause to say that bastard’s name with such warmth and ease, either.

By the time they’d returned to Bradford Hall, his anger had seemed excessive even to himself. But, when he joined her in their chamber . . . He smiled as he recalled her boldness, her passion. He had no doubt that his sweet wife was only thinking of him, not that son-of-a-bitch she’d nearly married.

Catherine moved beside him, drawing his attention once more. He looked down at her, this beautiful woman he married, and felt desire stir within him. Amazing, as they had shared their passion just a short time earlier. But she was asleep, undoubtedly exhausted from their long day.

Thinking he was certainly the most gallant of all men, he forcibly closed his eyes once more. They flew open as he felt her delicate hand grasp him.

“Catherine!” He gasped.

She smiled lazily up at him, her hand slowly stroking him. “You want me, James,” she said softly.

He laughed shakily at her statement of the obvious. “I always want you, love,” he said, rolling her onto her back.

He might not be sure about love, but this unending passion for the woman he’d given his life to? He was surely a lucky man.

*     *     *

Chester and Constance left after breakfast the next morning, promising to return soon for a long visit. The Earl of Bradford joined James and Catherine in the breakfast room soon after the guests had departed.

“Hello, children,” he said, serving himself from the sideboard. “I trust your journey from Westmorland was uneventful.”

“Yes, Father.” James nodded.

“Catherine,” he said, sitting beside his daughter-in-law. “How did you fare at the funeral?”

Catherine sighed and set her napkin aside. “As well as can be expected, I’m afraid.”

James’s father nodded solemnly. “Funerals are never the most pleasant affairs,” he said. “Especially for one so young. Was Lady Joan ill for long?”

James shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently so.”

Catherine shook her head. “Constance said that she didn’t recall Joan having any such stomach ailment before.”

“Perhaps Joan kept her illness a secret,” James offered. “It wouldn’t be the first time a lady did so.”

Catherine sipped from her teacup. “I suppose you may be correct.”

“Well,” James said, standing. “I must be off.”

“James,” Catherine said, her eyes flying to the window. “You can’t mean to work outdoors today. It’s still raining.”

He smiled at her concern. “I won’t melt, wife,” he said, kissing her lightly.

Catherine blushed slightly at his display of affection in front of the earl. “I, um . . . Do promise me you won’t stay out overlong.”

“Very well, I promise,” he agreed. “I’ll see you later, then. Goodbye, Father.”

“Don’t get yourself wet through now, son,” the older gentleman teased.

“I won’t, Father.” James laughed as he left.

“Catherine, I wanted to chat with you for a few moments,” the earl said.

“Yes, of course, sir,” she replied as she poured more tea into her cup.

“My dear, you are my daughter now. Please call me Father.” He smiled.

“Of course, Father,” she said with pleasure.

“I can see how happy my son is,” he said warmly, clasping her hand. “And I have you to thank for it”.

Catherine smiled and placed her other hand on top of his.

“James is a wonderful husband,” she replied softly.

“I can see you love him very much.”

She couldn’t keep the truth from someone so closely connected. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, very much, Father.”

“Have you told him of your feelings?”

She sighed and shook her head. “I—I’m not quite sure how to.”

“My son can be very stubborn and set in his ways, my dear. But he is a fine man. Trust in him and trust in your feelings.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears as she embraced her father-in-law and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Oh, now. I’m happy to listen any time you need to talk.”

The earl then told Catherine a bit about his late wife and Catherine’s eyes pricked with more tears at the great love he’d had for her. Certainly, having grown up with such warm and loving parents, meant that James could at some point grow to love her. She hoped so with all of her heart.

*     *     *

Catherine finished her breakfast and accompanied the earl to the library and left him there to read his book. She took herself into the parlor and sat behind the small writing desk. She was startled to find a letter sitting atop, her name penned on it in James’s elegant hand. Looking about the room to assure herself that she was alone, she opened the letter and started reading. She blushed hotly at the contents, the paper fairly burning her fingers. James’s words set her pulse racing. “Lord, how you pleased me,” he wrote. “Just the thought of your lovely mouth on me sets me on fire.”

“Oh, my!” Catherine gasped under her breath.

She folded the letter and quickly slipped it into the pocket of her day dress, a small smile curving her lips. She might not have his love, but she certainly had his passion. Sighing, Catherine put the provocative note out of her mind and set about penning a missive to her sister.

James joined her later for tea after changing out of his wet clothes. Catherine was readying to pour when he entered the room. She ran her gaze over him as he joined her and the earl in the parlor. His cheeks were a bit ruddy from the outdoors, his hair a bit damp. He looked strong, virile, and totally male.

Her gaze finally settled on his face, the sparkle in his eyes telling her how much he enjoyed her slow perusal. She blushed hotly and turned to pour tea into their cups.

“Here, James.” She held his cup out to him. “Do drink this. You were positively soaked through when you came in.”

He gave a small shrug and took the offered cup. “It’s nothing some tea and a warm fire won’t fix, wife.”

“What say you to some brandy in our tea, son?” the earl asked.

“Capital idea, Father,” James agreed.

He crossed to the sideboard to retrieve the bottle of brandy. Catherine watched the graceful way in which he moved, their passion of the last evening fresh in her mind. And his letter! What if someone else had happened to read his words?

She soon noticed that James was regarding her with puzzlement.

“Catherine, perhaps you’d like some brandy?” he asked.

“What?” she said quickly. “Oh, no, thank you.”

James poured the liquor in his and his father’s cups and set the bottle aside. He stepped closer to her. “What has you so skittish, love?” he asked softly.

Catherine shook her head. She couldn’t tell him how much his note had affected her. Surely he’d think her a silly chit or, worse, that her feelings ran much deeper than she alluded.

She flashed him a smile. “It must be the weather. I’ll be most happy when the rain finally stops.”

“Yes,” the earl cut in. “In March, I daresay.”

James laughed at that. “It does rain quite a bit in the winter. For once I shall be quite content to be housebound, with my lovely wife here to keep me company.”

Catherine blushed hotly, throwing a meaningful glance toward her father-in-law. James chuckled at her reaction and quickly turned the topic in an obvious attempt to draw attention away from her.

“I feel the cottages will withstand the winter quite nicely, Father,” he said. “I only hope all this rain won’t loosen the fence posts.”

The earl shrugged and took a healthy sip from his cup. “Easily remedied if need be, James.”

Catherine let their voices wash over her, pleased at last to feel her cheeks cooling. Just how dreadful could the weather turn? She hid her own grin at the possibilities.

The days passed, quickly turning to weeks. Neither Catherine nor James made any further mention of Lady Joan’s passing or of Waltham’s inappropriate behavior at the funeral. Almost before they were aware of it, the Christmas holiday was nearly upon them. They would spend part of the holiday at Leed Manor, which Catherine was quite looking forward to. She and James were also very happy that James’s father seemed to be improving. He seldom fell asleep at teatime and, when he spoke at length, coughs rarely interrupted his speech.

One afternoon, an unseasonably sunny and crisp one for December, James rode the estate to ascertain the fitness of the border fencing. Catherine, unable to resist the lure of a temperate day, walked in the winter-dormant garden, her cloak loosely wrapped around her form. She paused in front of the reflecting pool, once more thinking about her marriage and the love she felt for her husband but couldn’t divulge to him. Staring at her reflection, she pondered her father-in-law’s advice of simply telling James the truth. What if she did tell him? Would it be so dreadful?

Yes. James would feel guilty over being unable to return the sentiment, forced as he had been to marry her. Sighing in frustration, she took herself back into the house. As she walked through the foyer bound for the grand staircase, she caught sight of a missive set on one of the hall tables. Quite certain that it was another note from James, she snatched it off the table and hurried up the stairs, a smile teasing her lips. Once in their chamber, she swept off her cloak and tore open the letter. She gasped as she read the contents. She sank down into the chair in front of her vanity and read the words once more.

The note was from Waltham, and in it he stated his desire to renew his attentions toward her. He made mention of his great delight in seeing her at Joan’s service, and of how her face and figure ignited a fire inside him. He professed a desire to see her.

She dropped the note as if it burned her. How dare he write such things to her! She was a married woman! She stood then, eager to put the letter and its author far from her mind.

Leaving the note on the polished top of the vanity, she went into the dressing room to change for tea.

*     *     *